Chapter Text
How long would one require to realize they had made a mistake?
Would it be days, weeks, months? Did it depend on how attached to the reality one person was, on the size of their ego, on the people who encouraged them to do one thing or the other? Or would the guilt be within one’s heart the moment they’d done something, or even worse—when they had decided to go with their plans? Stretching its roots far and wide, curling around every single emotion, every thought and dream, carrying deadly poison in its wake?
What was it—guilt? A worry, a sadness, unhappiness with yourself? That you had committed something worthy of judgment? Whose judgment was it—yours or someone else's?
Sometimes, Elain felt like her guilt began the moment she was born.
It must have. Throughout her entire childhood, her teenage years, and even now, it would always be Elain saying I’m sorry, or forgive me, or it was my fault. Always the first one to make a step towards peace. Always the first one to accept the blame and smile, validating the feelings of the others. Anger, jealousy, hurt—those were the emotions she would not allow herself to indulge in.
Growing up with two sisters so fiery and stubborn, with her gentle words and placating attitude countless times she managed to win both of their favors having a keen sense of their character and knowing which moment was good—or not—to bring things up. Elain knew that if she tried to explain how difficult it was to steer clear between her siblings, by some she would be accused of manipulating them into liking her, into trusting her, into finding some peace in her.
You’re trying too hard.
They wouldn’t be really wrong. That was one of the things Elain felt guilty of—that with her carefully picked words and gestures she lured people into her life, never letting her true thoughts come out and believing it was the only way to make sure people she cared for stayed with her.
They never did. It felt like punishment.
No matter how hard she tried to weave her care into others’ minds and souls and attach them to her, it never worked. With time she learned that the constant she built around herself—understanding and empathy—allowed others to see her as a very forgiving person. She had dug her own grave.
Elain would understand. Elain wouldn’t be mad at me for this. Elain would tell me to do what makes most sense to me.
Wrong, wrong, so, so very wrong.
She said those things. She said them because she believed they were the right thing to say, that supporting and encouraging was what she had to do.
I understand. It must be very hard for you. I’m sure you did it because it was important for you.
It didn’t make the pain less.
I can’t stay here anymore. Feyre left, and I feel like being here drains me of purpose, I can’t just… I can’t stand seeing him like this.
It’s okay, Nesta, I will look after our father. You do what you think you should do.
Nesta, moving across the country to find peace. Her own peace.
I have to get out of here, Elain. I don’t belong here. I sometimes feel like me and Nesta are going to kill each other. She doesn’t… she doesn’t get me. But you do.
Of course, Feyre, it’s important you find your own place in this world. I will always be here for you.
Feyre, barely of age, running into the unknown from their unhappy home.
Forgive me, my girl, I ah… It’s so hard, without her.
I’m here, dad. I’m here.
Their father, broken with grief.
And underneath it all—the memory she thinks of whenever she tries to go as far back as possible. Her very first one.
Why…
Why couldn’t you…
Why couldn’t you be a boy?
—
I’m sorry, mama. I’m so sorry.
It’s alright. It isn’t your fault.
Wasn’t it?
Elain sniffed, then rubbed the tear which managed to escape away with her forearm. She hated cutting onions, but the recipe in front of her called for two of them finely chopped and sauteed.
“You okay there, Lainey?” her father called from their living room.
“Yeah, dad, just onions, you know,” she answered lamely as she dumped the entirety of cut up vegetables into the frying pan. The sting in her eyes and nose slowly reduced, and she cleared her throat, glancing at the recipe again.
Two tomatoes, for this much meat? Surely three would be better. And where are the carrots?
Cooking helped. She liked cooking, having learned it at a young age and loving to surprise her family with a special meal. It allowed her to focus on a singular task with a consistently positive outcome, and she felt like she needed it right now.
It also allowed her to think about sad things that made her cry while cutting onions, which she could easily use as a facade.
Of course, as an adult—albeit a young one—Elain understood that the people around her never really meant to hurt her—they were simply thinking about their lives and what they wanted to achieve, whether it came down to personal goals or the simple level of comfort they wished to live in.
—you stupid whore—
The majority of the people, that is.
Gladly, Graysen was no longer in the picture. Shocked by the fact her father stood up for her and by how it happened, her ex-boyfriend, according to her father’s words, peacefully gathered his belongings and left their home, promising to never cross anyone from the Archeron family ever again. Elain believed it—she doubted Gray—Graysen, she corrected herself—would want to do anything with them given that now their family had two broodmare freaks instead of one.
News about her presentation hadn’t had yet the chance to spread given she arrived home less than forty-eight hours ago, spending day one closed up in her bedroom—which was thoroughly cleaned and ventilated by her father while she was away.
Her father knew.
He tried talking to her through her door, but she asked for some time alone.
Then, the next day, she finally emerged into their shared space, and her father found her in their living room scrolling endlessly through a vast choice of TV-channels.
Nobody watches TV nowadays, indeed.
“My dear, how are you feeling?”
One simple question, just one, but it was enough for Elain to feel her face crumple—didn’t she cry enough tears already?—and eyes sting with tears spilling over. Shortly after she was enveloped into a tight hug.
“I called you, because you never messaged me you got to Feyre’s… and there was this man on the other end of the line—Lucien?—who told me what happened to you, that you presented, just like our Fey, that he was… that he was…”
She cried harder, then.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked, voice trembling, once her breathing calmed.
“No. Not at all, dad he was-he was nice,” she mumbled out, not looking him in the eyes.
He was nice. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. How safe and cherished Lucien had made her feel, how wanted she felt beneath his fervent touch, how strong and demanding he was, drawing pleasure from her body over and over again with his hands, with his tongue, with his whole body—
She couldn’t let herself think of more. Not with her dad right here, for Gods' sake.
Her father took some time to come up with a response.
“Well, where is he, then?”
She blinked at him.
“What?”
“Where is he? I expected to see someone who, like he put it, saw my daughter through a heat—”
“Dad—”
“—and it isn’t like I don’t know what happens—”
“Dad—”
“—I’m not that modern, Elain, and you are my daughter, I would like to see—”
“I ran away!” she interrupted him, finally looking at him.
“You… ran away?” he repeated slowly.
She turned away again and nodded without saying anything, wondering to herself what kind of woman her father thought her to be. She had just ended things with Graysen, and father did hear the things her ex-boyfriend told her during that disaster of a fight, so then what—
Her thoughts were interrupted by… laughter.
“What’s so funny?” she sniffed defensively.
“You remind me of your mother, is all.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It took me a year to convince her to go on a date with me, and before then she would always just sneer at me, like Nesta does now, and disappear out of my sight.”
Elain flinched a little. She didn’t like being compared to her mother. Nesta indeed was a lot more like her, with an iron will and steely gaze, unyielding and armed with sharp words, while Elain was all softness and care.
I’m sorry, mama.
Elain shook her head.
“Why did you run away?” he asked, catching her gaze with his. In his eyes—same fawn-coat brown as hers—she found so much compassion and love directed at her that her breath caught. It was such a rare occurrence for her—to be the one to speak and not listen, to talk about something that bothered her, hurt her—
It gave her some strength to put her most recent fears into words.
“I don’t think he wanted t-to be there, and I” —she swallowed— “I barely know him, but I feel so much, and it’s very, very fast, and I’m just afraid…” she trailed off.
“Afraid...?”
She dropped her gaze to her hands—thin and pale, slightly shaky, cuticles pushed back by her own nails in a nervous habit. She wasn’t very good at talking about her emotions, it seemed.
What was she afraid of?
That he was going to leave and break her heart? That he wouldn’t stay?
Alpha.
“Um, I think I better go cook something, dad, I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She stood up, turning towards the kitchen.
“But Elain—”
“Later, I promise, okay?”
Her father rose from the couch as well and walked up to her to then place both of his hands on her shoulders in a reassuring gesture. They felt warm, and so was the smile that bloomed on his face when he spoke again.
“Don’t forget, Lainey, I spoke to him. I don’t have answers to all of the things you brought up—if it is too fast or if it’s okay that you feel so much, but… Him not wanting to be there? I think not.”
“Why is that?”
Mr. Archeron’s expression turned almost… mischievous, like he knew a secret he wished not to share. It reminded Elain of Feyre, who quite often had a similar look on her face.
“And that you will have to ask your Lucien—”
“He is not my—”
“—there, there, you said you wanted to go cook something. I shall check some papers for work.” He kissed her on the forehead, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and walked away towards his office.
That was how Elain found herself waist deep in cooking something she didn’t even want, arguing with a recipe over a stew of all things.
Bite me, alpha, and I will offer you food.
How unwanted was she that a rutting alpha refused to bite her in the middle of her heat? What kind of omega was she? Barely got there and already failed at it.
The thought stung but rang true. He must have felt forced to be there with her, and that feeling was strong enough to keep his baser part leashed to not grant her what she asked for.
Did she ask for it? Or was it that animal in her head, which now lay heartbroken by a rejection from her chosen alpha?
You think it’s gonna take?
Bite me, and I will give you a baby.
She thought the former. She thought of their phone call days ago, she thought of fated mates. When he appeared on the doorstep of Feyre’s apartment and looked at her, she felt so happy that he found her, that finally, finally…
Finally, what?
She jumped when her oven timer dinged loudly, indicating that roasted potatoes were done. She quickly shut the oven off, took the baking tray out and placed it on a cooling rack and went back to stirring her stew.
What was she afraid of?
What did she want?
When she did those tests or checked her neck for a bite, what did she hope for?
My mate, my omega. My sweet, precious Elain.
They were inevitable.
Gods, how much she wanted it to be true.
Inevitable. As if a baby in her womb or a bite on her neck would bind him forever to her, with no chance of him ever leaving. Would make him stay.
She bit her lip. It probably would have, but it was such a foul way to bind someone to yourself—thinking about it should’ve made her feel disgusted with herself. But how could she feel that way when every time she thought of all those scorching hot words he poured in her ears—a baby, my baby, our baby—all she could think of was a little child with hair full of molten flame?
A child she would have loved with all her heart. Children, she would have loved all of them just for the sole fact that they existed, for every their talent and flaw—
If she had stayed, he would have left, wouldn’t he? Why stay with her if he made it so clear he didn’t want her as his mate?
Elain chided herself. Her anger wasn’t supposed to be directed at him, they barely knew each other, he did nothing wrong—
Neither did Nesta.
Neither did Feyre.
Neither did their father, he had the right to grieve.
I’m sorry, mama.
It was always her, wasn’t it? No matter what she did, the people who she cared for—what she did wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough.
I am never enough.
That was why she never addressed her relationship with Graysen. That was why she continued their charade despite knowing deeply in her heart they were no longer suitable for each other, that they never were, in fact. He was there.
“Oh, Lainey, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about.” Her father strolled into their kitchen, interrupting her gloomy thoughts.
“What is it?” she asked, killing off the heat beneath the pan and covering it with a glass lid.
“I don’t remember if I mentioned it, but I did meet up with Nesta for a coffee… she wanted me to give you these,” he said, offering her a small envelope.
Elain looked at the envelope in his hand akin to how Graysen stared at her father’s gun, she felt like. A slimy suspicion spread through her. She took it quietly—it was unsealed, but stiff with what seemed like printed photographs.
She met her father’s eyes.
“Do I want to see it?”
He pressed his lips together—a clear indication he knew the content of the envelope in her hands—then, looking away into the window to his left, he answered.
“He never deserved you.”
Graysen, then. Speaking of the devil.
She carefully pulled out the stack of papers from the envelope. On top of it was a very small note with familiar writing on it.
Just wanted to check a few things. Call it a hunch.
N.A.
Then, pictures.
Just a few of them, not many, clearly screenshots printed onto photo paper—why Nesta couldn’t just send these through their messenger Elain had no idea, and she didn’t want to think about her phone right now.
Each of them included one familiar face, which was Graysen, the others… she didn’t know. Women, every time a different one, but always right next to her ex-boyfriend. The screenshots provided dates as well—which, if she trusted her memory, matched with the times Gray—Graysen—went away for either work trips or spending time with friends.
The very last one was posted a little more than a week ago, when Graysen claimed he was going to the countryside with his group. At least he didn’t lie about the countryside, she thought, looking at the background filled with sunlit sky and fields.
A cold numbness together with acceptance spread through her. Here in her hands lay another proof that, regardless of what she did or how she treated someone, they weren’t going to choose her.
Choose me. Please, choose me.
Was that what she wanted? To be someone’s choice?
“I was going to confront him, in front of you,” her father continued. “I was going to show him these pictures and ask him who he thought he was, living in my house while disrespecting you like so, I ah” —that anger she first saw on her father’s face a few days ago resurfaced with fervor— “and then I heard how he spoke to you, I saw him grab you—”
“Dad, it’s okay, he isn’t here anymore,” she tried, dropping the pictures on the kitchen counter and approaching him.
“—I thought I was going to kill him, right then. I wanted to,” he gritted out.
A thought occurred to her.
“Where did you get the gun, anyway?”
The question seemed innocent enough to steer the man away from thoughts of murder.
“Nesta gave it to me, along with these.” He nodded at the stack of photos nearby.
Silence hung in the air between them. She shrugged, not knowing what else to say—crying over Graysen seemed pointless given her heart hadn’t belonged to him for a long time. It belonged to someone else now, someone who most likely didn’t want it.
“You should talk to him, Elain,” her father breathed out at last, then left the kitchen.
She understood who he meant.
Him not wanting to be there? I think not.
She turned back to her stew. She uncovered it and dipped a spoon into the thick of it—she was curious how it turned out despite originally not wishing for it. It had some time to sit and cool off a little, which was perfect for tasting.
It was… surprisingly good. Salty, with some acidity which balanced well against fatty meat, with mushy tomato chunks—just how she liked—and carrots with a bite to them, hit off with rosemary and her favorite pepper mix. Nothing special, but it would go over the potatoes she cooked alongside quite nicely.
An image in her head. Lucien, trying some of her food and humming in approval, then bending down and kissing her on the cheek in thanks.
She was done stewing.
She went back to her room and dressed quickly, mindless over what to wear. She was done wallowing in pity towards herself, was done with waiting for the miracle to happen—it already had happened, she only had to go and ask.
Choose me, please, alpha, choose me.
She wanted him to choose her. She wanted Lucien to look at her and say yes, to let her make up for leaving him alone—Gods, what must he have felt waking up without her? She felt like a wretch.
What if her father was wrong?
Then I will cook so much stew everyone will be sick of it, she thought to herself, trying not to think of much else. It was easy, so very easy to lose courage on the way to something scary—she didn’t want to risk it.
Just on the way to the front door, she froze. Then, in a hurry, she entered the kitchen again and, after a haste search, found one of father’s lunch containers. She rinsed it, dried it, then filled it with a generous portion of potatoes and her stew. After throwing Graysen’s pictures in a trash bin with a vengeful sniff, she made her way out.
To Lucien.
Leaving in such haste, Elain didn’t realize at first that the only two places she knew to look for Lucien were the coffee shop and Feyre’s apartment. Not wishing to waste her courage on contemplating which place was more likely to have Lucien there and which she had to check first, she flipped a coin—heads—which meant going to Feyre’s, first.
Fifteen minutes of driving later, when she arrived at the hall, she saw that the apartment door was open.
Oh Gods, he’s here. He is still here.
The animal—omega, this was her omega part, not an animal—in her mind lifted its head in interest. Still wounded, but sharing a similar determination with Elain to claim what they wanted, it slowly rose on its legs into a shaky stance.
Alpha?
She felt slick gather between her thighs despite her fear of what to come and shifted her weight from one leg to another. She braced herself, repeating words of apology in her mind over and over again.
I’m sorry I left. I got scared you wouldn’t stay. I’m in love with you. Please, have me. I want to be with you.
Exhaling through her nose in a self-encouraging breathing exercise, Elain squared her shoulders and made her way in—
—to be hit in the face with a strong smell of chemicals.
She gasped, then sneezed, tears quickly rushing to her eyes—she used way more mild agents when cleaning here—then opened her eyes and looked around, in shock.
There was… a cleaning crew in the apartment. Vacuuming, dusting, ventilating, washing kitchen counters and the table and the floors, there was some noise coming from the bathroom…
Everything, everything was misplaced. The things she bought for Feyre, every single one of them held a touch of washing agent to it and was in the wrong spot—all of it looked as if the apartment was being cleaned from a crime scene.
Elain blushed furiously—she supposed spending a heat in one place would leave an imprint on it, but standing here now, she felt… nothing.
It was all gone. None of her scent, none of Lucien’s, none of them together from how they spend night after night entangled in a heap of blankets intermixed with their clothes on top of a large plush rug…
Startled, she looked to her left, where the couch was—one crew member was using some sort of a powerful furniture washer on it. The floor in front of it was empty.
Her nest.
It was all gone. She heard a small whine leave her throat.
“Miss? You can’t be here without a mask, we’re using quite strong stuff right now,” a muffled voice reached her from her right, and Elain used all her strength to tear her gaze away from the uncovered floor. It didn’t work on the first try. Her eyes and nose began to sting.
Finally, she looked to her right to see a woman in a full-body cleaning suit staring at her with hands on her hips. A few blond hair strands peaked out from beneath the protective screen in front of her face.
“Ah, sorry I was just, um, excuse me—” Elain swallowed back her tears “—but did you see a man here? Tall, red hair?” she croaked out, looking at the other woman hopefully.
“The redhead? Oh, we all saw him and heard him loud and clear. Gods he was angry. He almost fought with our landlord!” the woman exclaimed, rolling her eyes.
“Your landlord?” Elain repeated dumbly.
“Yes, our landlord. We’re cleaning this place on his orders. These alphas, honestly—hey, what did I say? Strong chemicals, you can’t be here!” The cleaning lady walked past her towards the couch, then murmured something to another person working there. “Why are you even here?” she asked after a moment.
“My sister lives here,” Elain supplied, eyes drawn back towards the spot where the rug was. “Hey, uh, there was this plush rug over here—where did it go?”
The woman leveled her with a curious stare, then licked her lips.
“It was unsalvageable, so someone took it away. Absolutely saturated with some stench according to our landlord’s words—I can’t tell, I’m a beta, but we gotta do what we’re paid to do, right?”
Elain’s upper lip curled. Some stench. She was definitely checking tabs on that landlord of Feyre’s, now filled with personal vendetta.
A small spike of anger didn’t help the encompassing feeling of hurt spreading through her at the sight and feel of her nest being fully destroyed. She understood now, of course, that it had no place to be at Feyre’s, but it would have been nice to save some things for herself—she bought them, after all, and now…
And all because she ran away.
“Lady, if you don’t leave right now, I’m gonna have to call the police and report self-harm,” the woman addressed her again, softer this time.
Elain nodded and headed to the front door but stopped for a moment right next to the key hanger she remembered from earlier. The fourth knob, which previously was empty, now housed a key with a small leather-crafted fox dangling next to it. She looked at it for a few seconds, then decidedly pulled the keys she still had from her purse—with a small golden sun—and hung them right next to the cheekily smiling fox.
She wasn’t coming back here. Not for a long time, at least.
A tear escaped her right eye, which she swept away and then left the apartment.
Back inside the car, Elain had to take a moment to mend her cracked resolve to find Lucien. Seeing the place of their union so thoroughly cleaned of them kicked her in the back of her knees, the omega in her head crushed by all of her hard work going to waste.
“We will make a new nest for ourselves,” she mumbled out to herself pitifully, swiping more tears away.
It wouldn’t be the same. Although the idea of having a nest was better than no nest at all—she couldn’t have imagined herself needing such a thing in the first place over a week ago, but here she was—a new nest wouldn’t have a scent of Lucien painted all over it, wouldn’t make her feel safe and wanted, saturated with their pleasure and desire for one another.
It would make her somewhat lonely, in fact. A small little nest, just for her, with just her scent in it, full of despair and sadness and aching longing for an alpha. For the alpha.
Maybe no nest, then.
Unless she found Lucien. Unless she found Lucien, and unless he wanted her back, wanted them to—
She started the car. She remembered the image her starved mind conjured for her—Lucien trying some of her food and humming in approval, then kissing her in thanks. She still had the food she made earlier with her, she could try offering it to him and see his reaction.
She told him… she told him she would offer him food if he bit her. Submerged under the haze of heat and wholly consuming desire for him she said those words, but it was still her. But would he place a mating bite on her neck if she offered food first? Was it some sort of gesture he could appreciate?
Gods, she knew nothing of these alpha-omega rituals. No matter. She didn’t know him well, true—she was going to pretty much propose to a stranger, but the choice was already made so there was no going back. At least that’s what she told herself as she drove.
Once the familiar logo of Sunbeams peered at her from the side of the street she slowed down and parked on a free spot nearby. Outside, she stopped at the door, trying to peek through tinted glass, but it didn’t quite let her see anything inside—it seemed like the glass offered some privacy to the customers.
Elain swallowed, then sent a silent prayer to the Mother, and walked into the shop.
Lucien wasn’t there. There were no customers around on her side of the shop, and no barista behind the counter—empty and awfully quiet besides the soft humming of the machinery deep inside, the shop weighed down on her with the realization that she hadn’t found him.
Alpha isn’t here. The omega in her mind slumped down onto the mind-floor in defeat.
Elain’s shoulders dropped. She looked around helplessly, a small plastic bag with her offering—a pretty lame one, now that she thought about it—clutched in her hands, remembering her first interaction with Lucien—face to face, that is. How she came here having no idea she would find him in this place, how she couldn’t keep her eyes off his beautiful face and body, how later in their call he told her fate tied them together—
A door opened behind her.
“Elain?”
She turned so fast her hair covered her vision for a moment, but then she brushed it away with her hand and here he was.
Lucien.
Alpha.
Once again fate brought them together, she thought.
All the words of apology and confessions disappeared from her mind like little bunnies skittering away into the greenery of a massive forest. She stood there, unmoving, staring at him and feeling her heart beating faster and faster in her chest.
She was going to faint.
Lucien’s gaze ran over her from head to toe, then back—to her eyes, and, seemingly tired of her not saying anything, he looked away and walked past her towards the counter.
“What are you doing here, Elain?” he asked, his back turned to her, voice low but cold.
His entire demeanor was cold. Her whole being shivered in fear that it was too late, that the damage was done, that he wouldn’t accept her. Her omega was hissing in her head, furious she displeased her alpha, making Elain want to drop on her knees and apologize properly, but she was too afraid he would refuse her and make her die on the spot at his feet.
“I uh, I wanted—I wanted to talk,” she mumbled, eyes drilling into his back.
Lucien propped both of his hands on the counter, still standing on the customer’s side, and sighed.
“Alright,” he said, not turning to her, “then talk.”
She frowned in hurt. Was this how it was going to go? Why wouldn’t he look at her—was she this repulsive to him, after what they’ve done together? Or after she left him?
Maybe her father was wrong, then. She of course didn’t expect Lucien to accept her with open arms right on the spot, but he—did he want her here?
“Should I go?” she asked in a small voice, not knowing what else to say.
Lucien turned to her then, arms crossed over his chest and expression guarded. He clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared slightly like he was trying to control his breathing. This Lucien was nothing like the man, the alpha she met right here days before.
An uncontrollable desire to placate him and make him smile again came over Elain, but she just shifted on her feet.
“Unless you’re saying things to yourself, I haven’t heard any talk yet.”
Say something, the omega inside of her hissed.
“I—I did a test,” she blurted out, then mentally slapped herself on the forehead. What a way to start a conversation.
Lucien tensed at her words, the fabric of his work shirt rippling at his shoulders, his stare heavy.
“Are you pregnant, Elain?” He made one step towards her, then froze, waiting for her answer.
She dropped her gaze to his feet and shook her head no. Somehow, letting him know that felt like a betrayal.
Lucien’s arms dropped into his pockets, and he hummed.
“Well,” he retreated back to the counter, resting his lower back against it, “I supposed that’s good then, right?”
She jerked at his words as if he slapped her across her face.
Good thing?
Bile welled up in her throat at the same time as hot tears filled her eyes.
Good thing? How was it a good thing? He didn’t mean the things he said, then?
You want to have my baby?
Oh Gods, he didn’t want that. He didn’t want any of it, she was stupid to come here, to try talking, what could they talk about if he didn’t want it, didn’t want her, didn’t want…
“I will go,” she choked—a sob followed—she covered her mouth with a hand quickly and turned to run, run away from here—
“Elain, wait—” a hand caught her by her arm and tugged, prompting the small bag she had clutched to her chest to go flying and land with a loud crash on the floor between them, spilling the contents of the now cracked container out.
Lucien instantly released her arm, pale, looking at chunks of food at their feet with a shocked expression on his face. Elain stumbled a little but looked as well, disbelieving, tears streaming down her cheeks and neck underneath the collar of her shirt.
Her food. Her offering.
She felt like before her on the floor was not food but her heart, broken into pieces and crushed, chunks ugly, undesirable. Even the omega inside her head stopped moving, stopped telling her things, stopped doing anything.
“It was oh—awful,” she croaked, not looking at him.
“Was this for me?” he asked at the same time, voice so quiet she barely deciphered his words.
Another sob wrecked through her, but she nodded, defeated, feeling so small and alone she wanted to curl into herself. She heard him move and looked—he was kneeling on the floor, still staring at the pieces of stew and potatoes splattered around.
“What are you doing?” she asked, confusion pausing her desperate cries.
His eyes met hers—his beautiful russet eyes, glinting—and he swallowed hard, sharp point of his throat moving up and down.
“You brought me food,” Lucien said, voice low and trembling, “I will eat it off the floor, if I need to.”
At such admission coming from him the dam holding all of her words inside of her finally burst and collapsed.
“It was so awful,” she said again, crying and fighting for breath, “to see them all negative, I did five and they all, all showed negative, and you didn’t bite me, and I had nothing, nothing, I—”
Elain closed her eyes to stop her hot tears. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop—
Hands, large and warm, ran over her shoulders and back, turning her entire frame and a moment later she was engulfed in a tight embrace, face tucked into Lucien’s chest. She clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer to her, and cried harder as he stroked her back over and over, shushing her into her ear.
“—sorry I left, Lucien, ‘m so sorry” —she wailed— “I’m so sorry, I—I wanted to have something, something that would make you s—stay, nobody stays with me—”
“You need nothing to make me stay,” he stammered hotly, cupping her cheek and making her look him in the eyes, “you need nothing, just tell me you want me, and I promise you I’m yours, for as long as you want, Elain—”
She stood on her toes as she reached for his face and brought his mouth to hers. She kissed him, slow and gentle, hands running up his chest to his shoulders and neck, arms wrapping around it as he brought her impossibly close to him with one arm around her waist and another moving from her face into her hair, cradling the back of her head and angling her head like he desired. He kissed her back, then, but it wasn’t gentle, it was hot and hungry and full of inextinguishable want, tongue demanding entry to her mouth which she granted gladly.
Alpha. Alpha is here. Alpha wants me.
“I want you—forever,” she gasped into his mouth between the kisses, and before she could say anything else she was lifted off the floor by his strong arms and carried off to the other side of the main counter. One moment she was in his arms in the middle of the coffee shop—they were still at his work place—and the next he was pressing her into the cool wall in some dark corner, his hands cupping the backs of her knees to guide them around his waist, his hardness pressing against her core—he was so hard—as he continued to ravage her mouth.
She hoisted herself higher, now able to writhe against him and glide her clothed cunt up and down his length, and she could feel how wet she already was, her panties surely soaked through with all the slick her body was producing in anticipation for alpha’s cock. She clenched around nothing.
His large hands palmed at her thighs and went further to the flesh of her bottom, squeezing it and then she jumped as she felt a sharp sting the moment his palm descended down on her asscheek with a punishing smack. She gasped, then felt herself get even more wet and moaned.
“You left early,” Lucien gritted out as his kisses descended down her neck, “another day or two you were supposed to be with me, in your nest, fed and fucked, and you left, and you weren’t checking your phone—”
She reached down with one of her hands and clutched at his belt, tugging at it desperately until it finally gave, allowing her access to the button on his pants and a fly—all gave in beneath her angry assault and she finally, finally pushed her hand down his boxers and cupped as much of his length as she could, making him hiss into her neck and thrust his hips towards her hand. Elain pressed down, wrapping her fingers around his cock and giving him a hesitant stroke—he never let her play with it long enough during her heat, always desperate to be inside of her—but now she felt like she would die if he didn’t fill her to the brim right this moment, the fire low in her belly consuming her entire being.
“Alpha,” she breathed out pitifully, pushing the waistband of his boxers down and roughly pulling his cock and sack out, stroking him some more, “alpha, I need you inside of me.”
Lucien growled—she shivered at the sound—sucking on her mating gland especially hard and making her keen, then one of his hands left her ass to snake between their bodies. He pressed his fingers to her soaked underwear and groaned when he felt how wet she was, then dipped one finger from the side, gathered some of her slick and brought that finger to his mouth. At the taste of her he groaned again, louder this time.
“Missed your needy cunt,” he rasped as he clutched at her underwear and pulled it away from her core; then, with his thumb, he pressed against the tightly held fabric—it tore open, creating a hole in both layers of it, at which he tugged roughly until the stitches yielded completely and there was an opening big enough to accommodate him. Seeing him exude so much strength with his mere fingers between their bodies was the hottest thing she’d ever seen in her life.
She watched with breath held as he took himself in the hand, then brought the blunt head of his cock to her core, dipping it slightly inside of her for lubrication one, two, three times—it felt hot against her slicked body. Before Elain could prepare herself, Lucien was grabbing at her body and kissing her hungrily and pushing in, in and in with no reprieve or preparation, both cock and tongue, and she gasped at the stretch low in her belly and clung to him.
Yes. Yes. More. Alpha.
She felt him carve the path inside of her, felt him move so deep she tasted him in her throat, the stretch bringing her a wonderful sensation of pleasure-pain. Once he bottomed out, he immediately started moving, drawing out and thrusting back in with a punishing pace, making her choke on her own moans. This was what she needed, what she wanted, he was so close—they were touching everywhere, everywhere, and she was so blissfully full.
“You’re mine,” he hissed into her mouth as he kept fucking into her, one forearm resting on her sternum and fingers wrapping around her throat, “no more fucking running away, omega, no more ignoring me, say it—”
“I’m yours, yours, yours, and you’re mine, please don’t stop I’m so—”
She was already close, with the intensity of their coupling and emotional high of him wanting her, so, so close, she needed just a few more—
Somewhere in the front of the store, a door opened.
“Hello?” a voice boomed from somewhere on her right.
Lucien pressed in, thrusting into her fully and covering her mouth with his large hand—the same one he used to sample her slick—she could smell herself on him—and she licked him before even realizing what she was doing. His eyes darted to hers, and they both froze.
Someone was in the coffee shop. A customer? But she was so close. She was so, so, so close. Please, just a little more.
“Hey, anyone here? I would like to buy some coffee.”
Elain lapped at Lucien's fingers over her mouth and swirled her hips in an attempt to get some friction in her stuffed cunt. He was looking at her with what seemed like a burning flame in his eyes, unblinking and gaping slightly, then he bit his lip and slowly pushed two fingers into her mouth. The tension in her lower belly intensified but she suppressed her moan.
She sucked on them and her eyes rolled—she closed them.
“Hello? Anyone? Are you guys clo—oh shit, what the fuck is this on the floor?! My fucking sandal!”
She heard a very quiet growl—no, she felt it revibrate through her body and opened her eyes. Lucien was still looking at her, but now his upper lip was curled, revealing his teeth. He moved closer, until mouth was right against her ear.
“Look at me when you come,” he gritted out and licked across her ear. Then he moved back, so he could see her, and she could see him. Their eyes locked.
“What is wrong with this fucking place? Absolutely unbelievable, no employees and fucking ruined my shoes in this mess—”
Elain swirled her hips again, eliciting a throb in her clit, while Lucien started moving his fingers in her mouth—in and out, in and out—imitating fucking her. She felt her eyes well up with fresh tears—she couldn’t breathe, or she would make a sound—and saw Lucien’s pupils expand at the sight. They were so large now, almost fully encompassing the lovely russet with black. The feel of him in her cunt—he was still inside of her, bottomed out and making her body accommodate him with no compromise—and in her mouth together with light dizziness—she felt drunk, drunk on his cock—lit her spine ablaze and she felt the pleasure-pressure in the pit of her belly coil tighter and tighter, her cunt fluttering…
She sniffed—the only audible indication she gave as she came hard, fire inside of her exploding and sending waves of heat and shivers through her limbs, her core squeezing around Lucien’s length. She bit his fingers to not scream and clutched at his collar and saw him bare his teeth at her in a mute snarl. Tears rushing down, she took a very quiet controlled breath through her nose, and that was when Lucien pulled his fingers out of her mouth with a wet squelch, bent down and kissed her.
“Hope you’re fucking ready for one star, lads, I will make sure people don’t come here to get coffee!”
Her cunt still pulsing around Lucien’s cock, they both listened for the guy in the front of the shop to leave.
The moment the door closed—
“—oh fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck—” Elain gasped and shrieked into Lucien’s mouth as he started fucking into her hard and fast, bruising, skin slapping against skin.
“Couldn’t look away from you fucking yourself on my cock”—he gritted through his teeth as he thrusted in again and again—“what a desperate omega, ready to fuck herself on alpha’s cock with strangers around, Gods—”
“Yes, alpha, yes, yes, I’m yours, I’m yours, Lucien,” she cried, feeling her second peak approach.
“Mine, you’re mine—ah”—he snaked a hand between their bodies again and pressed down on her lower belly, making her wail as the stretch of him she just got accustomed to turned into more, his fingers long enough to caress her clit—“give me another, omega, another, come on my cock again, I need you to, right now," he demanded, voice almost a constant growl.
“Bite—me,” she pleaded, tilting her head and exposing her neck, “please, alpha, bite me, never apart again, pl—ah!”
His teeth clamped down hard on her mating gland and she felt something inside of it burst, and then—
And then full-encompassing pleasure exploded in a blinding wave of whites and golds, sparks flying behind her closed eyelids, a rush of heat epicentring in her core and then expanding outwards to every single cell of her body.
She felt transcendent.
I love you.
She heard him, in her mind.
I love you. I love you. I love you so much. I will never stop loving you.
—
I love you, too. So much. Please, don’t leave me.
Never.
When she came back to herself, Elain found herself on top of Lucien, who sat on the floor with his back propped against the wall. The feeling of her body was returning to her slowly and in pieces. Slight soreness in her back and gentle strokes of a warm hand, tingling in her fingers and toes, tenderness in her lips.
Fullness.
She tried to move experimentally and felt her entire core tug. Lucien hissed and groaned. They were still joined, his knot nestled sweetly inside of her.
“Don’t do that,” he complained, nuzzling into her hair. The rumble of his voice inside his chest felt pleasant against her ear.
“Sorry,” she apologized sheepishly, then looked up at him. As she moved her head, she finally felt the sting coming from a mating bite adorning her neck. Her eyes prickled with tears of joy.
He looked radiant. Happy, thoroughly disheveled by her hands, a little tired, perhaps, but his eyes were bright and his smile—soft and relaxed. She felt herself smile in return.
He cupped her cheek and brought her face to his, then kissed her, lapping at her mouth.
She felt him in her thoughts. Not a fully established presence, but a clear pathway to his mind and soul, a chain of gold tying them to one another, a bridge of spun sunlight between them, in the middle of which his alpha and her omega were entwined in never-ending embrace. Two beings who chose each other and became one.
“I still need to offer you food,” she murmured into his mouth, caressing his beautiful face.
“I’m in the middle of a move, but we can still go there,” he answered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “the furniture is almost all there, just some minor things. Some decorating.” He glanced at her.
Elain felt excited at his implication, but still frowned.
“In the middle of a move? What happened?”
He chuckled, which caused them both to gasp at the sensation where they were joined.
“Some more fateful events, if you ask me.”
She leveled him with a suspicious stare, but too tired to actually try and get any truth out of him, relaxed in his arms, allowing their bodies to settle and, eventually, let each other go.
An hour later, when they arrived at Lucien’s place, a full grocery bag in tow, once he opened the door for her and Elain looked inside, her eyes immediately zeroed on it.
A large plush rug. The rug, from the heart of her nest, on which they spent night after night in a cycle of endless passion.
She looked back at Lucien, her face open.
“I was at Feyre’s today, and the cleaning lady told me they threw it away.”
Lucien guided them both inside, and once the door behind them closed, he wrapped her in a tight embrace. She felt him tremble in uncontrollable emotion and hugged him back just as tightly.
“I was so angry. I left the apartment to settle some business with my move, but I came back to see if you were there.”
Elain’s eyebrows drew together, and she opened her mouth to apologize again, but Lucien shushed her gently.
“It’s okay, dove. They were cleaning everything, and that fucking prick—”
“Who? The landlord?” Elain immediately connected the dots.
“Yes, his name is Rhysand, and he was being an obnoxious cunt because Feyre’s apartment smelled of another alpha.”
She giggled at his language which made him grin.
“Why did he care what Feyre’s apartment smelled like?” Elain asked as they unloaded the groceries into the cabinets and fridge.
“I have my suspicions, but let’s just say he’s interested in her.” Lucien gave her a salacious wink and Elain giggled again. “I preoccupied his mind though—he wasn’t happy to hear Tamlin was in town.”
She gasped.
“Tamlin is in our town?”
Lucien nodded; expression grim for a moment.
“He broke into my previous place, trashed it and stole my blockers.”
Stole his blockers.
“That’s why you were in a rut?”
Lucien rounded the counter in the middle of the kitchen and approached her, then gently booped her on the nose.
“That is why I was in a rut.”
“That’s rich coming from you, I presented because of your stupid good-looking jacket,” Elain bit out defensively.
Lucien gaped at her, then smiled so bright and wide her heart ached.
Once the groceries were brought where they belonged, and both of them showered—which may or may not have ended with another passionate moment between them—Elain found herself and Lucien on the plush rug in front of his couch, her straddling his toweled thighs, a bowl full of cut up fruit beside them.
She took a small strawberry from it and placed it carefully in the hold of her teeth, then turned to Lucien, who was watching her with rapt attention. She brought her face to his and rubbed the tip of her nose against the bridge of his, nosing at him, then froze, an offering in place.
He cupped her face with both of his hands and kissed her, snatching the strawberry from between her teeth with his tongue and moaning in the process. Once he swallowed, they closed their eyes and pressed their foreheads together, a mating ritual complete, bond between them eternal and unbreakable.
“By the way, when were you going to tell me you are Feyre’s sister?”
~ Fin ~